Thanks everyone for all the support! I love every review with all my heart!

Jason tried to focus as he watched the meeting point of the Lieutenant of the Black Clovers with the children handlers. It was only years of training and force of will what stopped him from jumping right there and then and maim and preferably kill the low lifes that dared soil his territory with child trafficking deals.

But his objective wasn't that tonight. He was here to find out more information about the size and reach of the operation and gauge who he needed to kill to make it all crumble down. Usually you just had to find a few key individuals and the rest came down after that.

Against what his family thought, he never jumped into action without having planned every step of the way.

That meant swallowing the discomfort, planting as many bugs as he could, and gathering distasteful information before going in guns blazing.

Patience, he could still hear Bruce's voice in his head. Don't jump until you've made an escape plan.

He shook his head, pushing the memories away. He wasn't Robin anymore.

"Is that all?" The Lieutenant, a big muscled woman, probably ex-military, asked the men gathered in front of her. She raised an eyebrow when they looked at each other nervously.

"Red Hood is onto us." One said.

Jason tensed. Was he discovered?

"Okay?" The woman seemed uninterested. He had made clear already that he didn't like them in Gotham, so it wasn't news.

"There's… I mean… " the man looked down.

"What he's trying to say, ma'am," the bootlicker of the flock bowed his head, "is that Red Hood seems to have an assistant."

"What!?" The Lieutenant shouted almost at the same time Jason whispered the words. "And why haven't you reported it? Who is this assistant? A sidekick? One of the bats? A new player?"

Her voice grew louder with each question, nervousness leaking through the stern mask. A bat was known territory, and they didn't kill. A new person could be another Red Hood vs Black Mask situation.

But Jason knew there wasn't such a thing. Not a new bat, or a new vigilante or hero, and he definitely didn't have a sidekick. He would never do that to a child.

"A woman." The bootlicker continued. "Young, a redhead. Robert's men were taken down by her and Hood."

Oh no.

No, no, no.

This was not good.

The street was empty when he arrived and the children wouldn't tell a soul anything, they had their own code or something going on. One of the thugs had to have spoken about her.

He wanted to scream. Damn everything. Why did he let the scumbags live? Why did he feel bad because Jazz may or may not have given the dude a severe concussion? He should have known that letting the men live was a bad idea, they had seen her face. Rookie mistake.

How could he be so stupid? How could he make such a mistake?

Were she a criminal or not, getting her involved in this mess was his fault now.

"Find her," the Lieutenant said, calming down. "Find her and bring her to me."

Two in the morning found him moping on a rooftop on the border of his territory. There wasn't anything that marked it different from the rest of the city, but from where he was to the horizon the buildings got nicer, cleaner and taller.

The difference was obvious, and he remembered looking longingly at the nicer parts of the city, imagining living in an apartment with actual working plumbing and that didn't smell like piss. He remembered his gaze going further to the big mansions far away in the distance, part bitter and part dreaming to be there one day.

Well, he got his wish granted in the end.

He didn't regret being Robin, at least not the whole experience of it. Looking back, it was good for him. Feeling that he was making a difference in the city, that he could actively do something to change it. If he separated that boy full of joy and magic and the person he had become, he could appreciate the past.

But there was this disconnection - he was not Robin and he hated everything that shackled him to it; the guidelines, the rules, the obedience. He was a completely different person now, and he refused to go back. It was not defiance, it was not him being a rebel. He just… changed.

He actually wouldn't mind visiting the Manor or going to the stupid dinner and seeing Alfred again.

If only the others could just stop. Stop trying to 'understand' him, trying to 'reason' with him, or find out what went wrong. If they can't get what went wrong then they wouldn't get it even if it hit them in the face.

He wasn't broken, but something in him had been broken, a long time ago. He picked the pieces and made something new, something different. He couldn't go back, he didn't want to go back. Was it so difficult to understand?

"Don't stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die." He whispered to the wind.

"That's a bit morbid, but beautiful. Is it yours?"

Of course.

He didn't turn, knowing that his older brother would be there.

"Shouldn't you be back at Bludhaven already?" He answered instead, not really wanting to discuss his taste in poetry right now.

"I am on my way back, but I wanted to deliver this to you in person."

Now he turned, seeing Dick with an extended hand with a SD Card between his fingers, as if it were some peace offering.

"Is this-?"

"Oracle's report." He nodded.

"And she couldn't send it to my computer?"

Nightwing shrugged nonchalantly, but it was faked. Jason narrowed his eyes. "We thought it was best to do this in person."

So Barbara had shared all the information first with Bruce and company. It bothered him a lot, but he was getting better at ignoring the pinch in his chest.

"Okay." His voice was controlled, but the modulator would take care of any trembling that could betray his actual emotions.

Jason dreaded what he would find in the card. What kind of horrible things was Jasmine involved in to entice this reaction from the others? She seemed so sweet and well, not innocent, no one who could survive for so long in Gotham was a hundred percent innocent (also, she worked at Arkham). He really wanted to know her more and despite his best efforts he was sure that whatever was in the card would crush him.

He didn't hesitate anymore. Like ripping a bandaid - he tried not to think about the bandaid buddies thing -, he inserted the card in the hidden slot in his helmet. Soon, the display system incorporated in it showed him the documents, photos and the written report from the family friend.

Dick was quiet as he read, choosing to sit down beside him on the ledge, occupying his hands with his phone.

Jason's heart beat faster as he skimmed through the report, jumping to the linked scientific papers, jumping to the family photos - yes, those were the people he saw the day she moved in, he confirmed -, jumping to the conclusion:

She had lived a peculiar life, with a backstory of a neglectful home and a parentalized child situation, driving her to pursue a therapist career and learn how to take care of herself and her loved ones, including but not limited to martial arts training, but that doesn't catalog her as suspicious. The parents' research on ghosts and the dead is worthy of a closer look, which will be done at a later time.

Jay, she's fine. In fact, I think she could be good for you. - Babs.

If you want my advice, don't wait too long on the revealing identities thing, no matter what Bruce says. It gets tiring after a while. - Tim.

Bring her to dinner? - Dick.

With a sigh, Jason took off the helmet if only to glare directly at his brother.

"I'm not going to dinner."

"If you-"

"She's not going either. We are not like that."

"That has an easy fix, you know." Dick's smile was mocking. "You only need to approach her and ask her out."

"Ha, ha." Jason turned his eyes back to the city. A heavy weight was lifted from his chest, but it was switched to another. "I fucked up, Dickie."

"What happened? Did she reject you already?"

Jason didn't grace that with an answer. "The Black Clovers are on the hunt for a redhead girl that was seen helping Red Hood."

Dick turned serious immediately. "What?"

"I fucked up."

"You already stated that. Could you explain more?"

"I- I let them live. The thugs." He sighed. Saying it out loud was worse. "They blabbed about her to their superiors. They implied she was with me to the Lieutenant."

"Do they know her name, her address?"

"No. They just know she's a redhead and her general age and physical description. But they got a clear look at her face, Dick." He hunched his shoulders. "This is what I get for following your damn code. Now an innocent is involved in my bullshit."

From the corner of his eyes he saw Dick flinch. He was right - sometimes letting people live made things worse, more dangerous. If she were killed… If Jazz were killed, it would be his fault for letting the thugs live.

Sometimes, trying to have the moral high ground by not killing someone puts other people at risk. The Bats tried to justify themselves saying that they couldn't be the judge, jury and executioner, that it wasn't their place to decide who lived and who died - but the Black Clovers didn't care about any of that. They would make the choice for him, no problem.

"I need… I need your help." Without the helmet, he was sure Dick could hear the slight tremble in his voice.

"Anything you need."

"I can't be everywhere, and I won't ask you to be everywhere, but… Keep an eye on her? There is a small army of you and you can cover more ground."

"Consider it done, Jaybird." Dick put a hand on his shoulder, trying to be reassuring.

Jason let him.

It had been, what, ten minutes already? Her bus should have passed already.

Did she miss it?

No, she was usually early, so her bus, the only bus that was a direct connection to Arkham, or close enough, from her apartment, should have passed about five minutes ago.

As the fifteen minute mark came and went, she considered getting on the first bus that passed and brave her way through Gotham's confusing bus system - she wasn't going to get into the convoluted subway system just yet.

She was a small town girl, okay? Amity Park didn't have a subway and the buses made sense. Also she had her car, but she left that behind for Team Phantom. She picked her apartment because it had a direct bus to her workplace and she didn't need to stress about commuting.

Twenty minutes. She was going to be late. Very late.

"Everything okay?" A voice made her look up from her phone. She blinked the frustration tears away.

"Jason," she smiled, glad to see a familiar face. "My bus is late."

He blinked slowly. "Bus to Arkham?"

"That's the one."

She stood up. There was no point having this conversation sitting pitifully on the bus stop's bench. Even at her full height she had to look up at him, despite him not even being that close. Jason was tall. She vaguely wondered if with the higher heels she owned she could get to his shoulder level if they were standing side by side.

For the moment it was a good thing that he was tall - if she positioned herself just right she could get free shade from the weak rays of the morning sunlight peeking through the clouds. Jason chuckled at her obvious move, staying in place as a proper sun shield for her.

"That's the bus that goes around the stadium?"

She nodded again, dread pooling in her stomach. "Yeah?"

"There was an attack earlier in the morning and some bus lines are out at least until tomorrow."

"And there's not an alternate route plan?"

He chuckled. "This is Gotham and they don't care about the people in Crime Alley or the Narrows needing to go to work." She didn't have time to unpack the bitter tone, but nodded at his words. "Have you tried the subway?"

"I haven't and I have no desire to start today." This time he laughed all the way, making her blush. She glared at him. "Don't laugh at me. I'm emotionally vulnerable right now and about to snap."

"An Arkham therapist about to snap? Have you chosen your supervillain name yet?"

"Har har." She glared harder, unfortunately aware of the colorful background her workplace had. "I was thinking Red-something, because of my hair, but it's a work in progress."

"Careful, you could be confused with the local heroes." He looked at her weirdly, like there was something else he wanted to say with it.

"Ah yes, Red Hood. I hope he doesn't sue me for copyright."

"That's more Red Robin's thing."

Jazz thought for a moment, trying to get the reference. Ah. "Because of the restaurant?"

His smile was all teeth. "Because of the restaurant."

They chuckled for a moment. A bus passed by, reminding her why she was there.

"Oh shit, what time is it!? I'm going to be super late!" She looked at her phone. Yep. She was running so late, and that's not counting the probable panic attack trying to make sense of the mess that was Gotham's public transportation system.

She left her Jason-shaped shade and went over to look at the bus plans on the side of the stop.

"Do you want a ride?"

Jazz turned, surprised. Jason shrugged at her sudden, and probably intense, attention, putting his hands on his jacket pockets.

"Would you do that for me?" She really needed a miracle at this point and if he was offering, well. He seemed nice and not a psychopath. "I mean, I could manage with a taxi…"

"Darling, if you can't afford more than the dump of an apartment we live in, I don't think you can afford to pay the taxi to Arkham."

He had a point.

"I don't want to be a bother…"

"I don't have anything else to do." He shrugged, but his lips curved in a little smile, maybe to reassure her that it was fine.

Jazz pursed her lips, her hands going to the strap of her messenger bag. She really needed this and it wasn't illegal to accept help. Danny always told her to stop trying to take on the weight of everything on her shoulders.

That you can doesn't mean that you have to. Hood's voice came to the front of her mind.

"Alright. Thanks a lot, Jason!" She hoped her smile showed how grateful she was. By the way he smiled back she assumed it did.

Both walked in comfortable silence back in the direction of their apartment. She wondered where he had parked, since this part of town wasn't exactly nice and didn't have much space for cars (second reason why she didn't bring her car to Gotham).

Soon she got her question answered, because in the alley just on the side of their building, under a tarp Jason quickly removed, was a red motorcycle.

Oh. Um.

"Scared of motorcycles?" Jason's smile was mocking, but his tone was soft.

"No." Jazz chuckled. "No, it's fine. It's just that somehow I should have expected it."

As he put away the tarp and chained it to a bolt on the floor (who would steal a tarp, only in this neighborhood), he looked at her from the corner of his eye, frowning slightly.

"Why?"

"Oh, it just adds to the whole bad boy thing you have going on." It came out of her mouth before she could stop. When instead of getting offended, his eyebrows went up in amusement, she continued. "Yeah. Leather jacket, a motorcycle and the attitude. And the hair."

He opened a side compartment on the bike, withdrawing two red helmets and giving her one.

"What about my hair?"

"The white stripe. It has been studied that reclaiming bodily autonomy is part of the process when someone goes through a traumatic event. Cutting your hair or changing the color, piercings, tattoos and the like are examples of an individual reclaiming authority over their own bodies as a way to fight against the sensation of not being in control." She put the helmet on, opening the visor. "That's why body modifications are a big part of punk and more modern movements, or bad boys aesthetics, for example. Fight against the system."

Jason watched her in dumbfounded silence. He blinked once. Twice.

"Sorry. That was uncalled for." She looked down, sighing. Her words sounded rude and like she was overstepping a few boundaries. She had barely talked to her neighbor at all before this. "Um. I ramble a lot?"

"Don't sweat it." He finally said, putting his own helmet on. "That was… an interesting analysis. A bit invasive, perhaps, but interesting nonetheless. We can work on your people skills, don't worry."

She smiled despite knowing he wouldn't see it. "We?"

"Well, you seemed to have me already cataloged as a bad boy, with interesting analysis and everything. I wouldn't mind listening to your ramblings about it."

He got on the bike and started it. Jazz stood next to him for a moment, enjoying how now they were almost at the same eye level, noticing he had striking blue eyes.

"I'll let you know that it is bad practice to psychoanalyze friends and family."

"Are we friends, then?"

She nodded. "And I never said I was a good doctor."

Jazz enjoyed it when he laughed at her comment. He had a nice laugh, too. It came from deep inside his chest, shaking his whole body with it, and it was contagious. She was laughing as she got on the bike behind him, secured her bag at her side, and looped her arms around him but kept herself at a proper distance from him.

"Ready?" He asked and she nodded. He nodded back and they were on their way.

Danny and Sam had made an effort to teach her how to ride a bike, first as a passenger and then riding one herself. They found out from Johnny 13 that motorcycles were the easiest and best way to get around the Zone, at least for the people that could breathe the ectoplasmic air.

Ghosts had their own thing going on anyway - Dora had a carriage, Frostbite's yetis had a sled, Pandora usually moved around on a boat. It was too official and too much for Team Phantom, specially for Danny, Dani and herself, so after asking Johnny and Kitty a few questions they decided on learning how to ride and acquiring bikes.

She was supposed to have one by now, but the ghost that made Zone-appropriate bikes that run on ectoplasm was very slow in his commissions and for the moment only had one ready; and since she was leaving for Gotham anyway, she let Danny have it.

Jazz let her memories dance around her mind as she enjoyed the ride. Jason was warm and a good windshield, so she wasn't unbearably cold despite the season. She watched the city go by around them, comforted by the purring of the motor and Jason's calm presence in front of her. She felt safe with him, thinking that maybe it was his height and how broad his shoulders were - also it helped that he hit the gym often, going by the firm muscle she could feel with her not creepy at all and very normal touch on his waist.

He usually wore the leather jacket or hoodies and sweatpants when they crossed paths going in or out of their apartments; but now that she was this close she could see that he hid a ton of workout and a level of fitness that you'd expect from an athlete. She wondered if he was a professional swimmer or something, realizing now that she never asked what he did with his life. Instead, she rambled about psychology stuff and came off as creepy and intrusive.

Good job, Jasmine.

Soon they approached the familiar and remote location of the Arkham Asylum. He drove all the way to the entrance, kicked the foot and turned off the engine.

By the time she had removed the helmet, he had already taken off his and was watching her with those clear blue eyes.

"What?" She said, getting off the bike to look at him properly. "Do I have helmet hair? Is it bad?"

Jason hummed, still smiling when he lifted a hand to tame down the hair that was out of place. His hands were big and a bit cold where his fingers touched her cheeks, probably from not wearing gloves while riding the bike, making her giggle at the unexpected touch.

She put her helmet on one handle and picked his hand, puting it between hers to warm it up, her fingers unconsciously caressing the rough texture of his callous palms and fingers. He worked with his hands, then. Or did a sport that required grabbing or holding something, if she went with the athlete theory.

"Thanks." She finally said, breaking the silence.

"Don't mention it."

There was another moment of silence, neither moving to say goodbye.

"Um, I should go." She finally said when she spied a coworker approaching the entrance. Right. She was going to be late for work. Or maybe not anymore? Thanks to the ride she saved a lot of time.

"Okay."

"You should go, too."

"For that, I think I'll need my hand." Again he did that shit eating grin while speaking with a soft voice combo.

She looked down. Oh right.

Jazz let go like she had been burned, already feeling her face go completely red in embarrassment.

"Um… Sorry?"

"Stop that." He lifted an eyebrow. "Stop saying sorry so much. Say sorry only when you need to be sorry."

"And when is that?"

"When you hurt somebody. And see? I'm fine." He made a gesture towards his body, as if she hadn't already noticed how cute he was.

Wait-

"What time does your shift end?"

Jazz blinked back to reality. "Huh?"

"Time. You get out of here."

"Um, at six. Why?"

"I'm picking you up." He wasn't looking at her as he was storing the extra helmet away, but if he were he would have seen her go completely red once more.

She had it under control when he turned, waiting for her answer. She looked nervously around her. The coworker from before was walking slower and very obviously watching the exchange.

"There's no-"

"But I'm offering because I want to." He interrupted her. "Remember, the direct bus won't be doing the route for a while. Maybe it'll be fine by six, maybe not. Wanna take the risk? Or accept help from a nice guy trying to be neighborly?"

Of course she could have studied the bus routes of Gotham by six, memorizing the times and the stops, the bus changes and how much money she would need for the trip.

That you can doesn't mean that you have to.

Well, he was offering…

"Okay, then." She looked away from his smile as she accepted, putting her hair behind her ear. "Only if it doesn't get in the way or anything."

"Tell you what. Let's exchange numbers and if something urgent comes up and I can't do it I'll just text you."

Ah. That was a good idea.

She pulled her phone and soon she had a new contact - Jason Todd (Neighbor). He had saved her as Jazz and nothing else.

"Perfect! See you at six, Mr Neighbor!" She waved her hand as she ran into the building, having noticed when looking at her phone that she didn't have as much time as she thought.

"See ya." She heard before the bike came back to life and he was back on his way.

Jazz speedwalked, trying to avoid her coworker, but she picked up her speed to catch up with her as the freaking gossip she was.

"Who was that?"

Christine was a nurse, one of the nice ones, and she wasn't exactly friends with her. But they had conversations around coffee enough times to make it socially acceptable that she asked for details about what just happened.

"My neighbor."

"Well maybe I need to move to your apartment because…" She fanned her face with her hands, her brown eyes as wild as her dark hair badly brushed and pointing everywhere. "That man is hot!" She made a sound as if she just ate something delicious.

"First, that's very objectifying of you." Jazz reprimanded as both walked to the lockers. It made her uncomfortable when people went off about the sex appeal of a total stranger. But she wasn't going to do that lecture then and there. "Second, he is very nice and was only doing me a favor since my bus abandoned me."

"Honey, that wasn't just a favor." Christine looked at her as if she were crazy. "At least not by the way he looked at you."

"And what way was it?" Jazz was ready to endure a comment about how she 'had to have sex with him' by the way he looked at her.

"Hm… Like you were an oasis in a desert." Christine said, making her do a double take. "I think he likes you, girl."

Jazz stopped trying to stuff her bag into her locker, her white coat hanging on her arm.

Did he? How? Why?

They hadn't talked that much, but she felt like they connected earlier. He laughed a lot. That was a good sign, right? He also implied he wanted to spent more time with her and offered to take her home after work and-

And she found she wouldn't mind knowing him more.

She felt her cheeks burn at the same time that Christine started crackling, amused by her revelation.

"Not. A. Word." She said. The laughter grew louder.